


make sure to include windows

by witching



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Begging, Biting, Blow Jobs, Communication, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Finger Sucking, Gentle Dom Martin Blackwood, Hair-pulling, Hunter Tim Stoker, Kissing, Knotting, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Love Confessions, M/M, Manhandling, Minor Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Fixation, Pet Names, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Riding, Scratching, Size Kink, Trans Male Character, Trans Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Werewolf Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28098672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witching/pseuds/witching
Summary: Tim pulls up short with his hand on his gun and squeezes his eyes shut. Hopes he's imagining things, or dreaming, or just plain wrong, but he knows he's not. He knows exactly what he'll see when he opens his eyes and looks up, and he knows he won't shoot, no matter how much he tries to convince himself he could make himself do it. He doesn't want to, is the thing. And he wants to believe that he can be a hero, do the thing he knows will hurt him most because the path he chose isn't about how he feels, it's about doing what's right – but hurting Martin could never be right, monster or not.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 95





	make sure to include windows

**Author's Note:**

> thank you steve (@awoogadude on twt) for making this happen!! your brain is huge and im incredibly honored that you blessed me with this concept and i hope i did it justice!  
> standard disclaimer #1: i am a trans person but im not transmasc, i always try to be informed abt the experiences im writing and value the insight of ppl who know it firsthand. terms used for tims body in this fic: cock, dick, folds, entrance, hole.  
> non-standard disclaimer: the werewolf thing is normal! theres _barely_ knotting and theres no abo or anything like that. it is very much two human beings who love each other having sex but one of them is just a little bit wolfish. i understand obv if anyone is uncomfortable reading it but i promise it isnt weird shit!

_and i cure the pores of my skin, i leave no room for anything_  
 _i survive because i have died_  
 _and just to keep my head afloat and my body unprovoked_  
 _i set up walls but make sure to include windows_  
// adult mom, 'survival'

* * *

Hunting is not a calling for Tim. It's hardly even a lifestyle. It might be a job, except he doesn't get paid; it might be a hobby, except he doesn't enjoy it. Mostly he thinks of it as penance, an obligation that he has to the world, to balance out the scales a bit since he left the Magnus Institute. 

He hadn't known at the time, of course, just how deep the horror went, but he'd been wary enough that he put in his resignation when they tried to transfer him to the archives. He lost a lot, left behind a lot, and the guilt ate him alive, but he just wasn’t strong enough to stick around and watch everything go to shit, watch the people he cared about get sucked into the tangled web they were supposed to be untangling.

So, Tim works alone now. He can rely on his senses and his instincts and his experience and that's it. He doesn't kill without reason, he doesn't make deals with avatars, and he doesn't look back unless he absolutely has to.

It's hard to avoid living in the past, though, when the past is looming over him as he turns a street corner in the dark. Hard to avoid thinking about the people he's left behind when one of them is very much  _ not  _ behind him at the moment, but rather real and whole in front of his eyes, changed in all the wrong ways, turning his blood to ice. 

Bigger, mostly, he's bigger than Tim remembers, and he has more hair all over, and he's not smiling but Tim can see the sharp points of his canines pressing into his lip. And then there's the ears, and Tim can't quite see but he's fairly certain there's a tail as well. 

Werewolf, then, or whatever passes for a werewolf in this fucked up game of gods and monsters. There's no full moon magic, no silver bullet bullshit, but the basic concept is the same. Inhuman. Monstrous.

But – it's  _ Martin. _

Tim pulls up short with his hand on his gun and squeezes his eyes shut. Hopes he's imagining things, or dreaming, or just plain wrong, but he knows he's not. He knows exactly what he'll see when he opens his eyes and looks up, and he knows he won't shoot, no matter how much he tries to convince himself he could make himself do it. He doesn't want to, is the thing. And he wants to believe that he can be a hero, do the thing he knows will hurt him most because the path he chose isn't about how he feels, it's about doing what's right – but hurting Martin could never be right, monster or not.

"Are you going to say something?" he asks after an indeterminate length of silence, and there's no fear in his voice, only something a bit distant, a bit sad. "I've never seen you speechless before."

"People change," Tim grunts out between gritted teeth, still refusing to look at him.

"Sure," says Martin bitterly. "I mean, look at me."

"I would rather not."

"Come on, Tim, it's not -"

"Don't talk to me like that," Tim snaps at him, voice full of venom. "Like we're  _ friends. _ You're a monster. I'm a monster hunter."

He hears a rustling of fabric, a shuffling of feet, and opens his eyes at last to see Martin standing over him, much closer than before, his arm outstretched as if midway through the motion of patting Tim on the shoulder. Martin doesn't do it, though, fumbles to a halt and drops his hand back to his side once he realizes Tim is looking at him.

He pauses, tilts his head to the side. "I don't want to hurt you."

Tim sets his jaw and flares his nostrils. "Good to know."

"Do you want to hurt me?" Martin ventures, sounding small and sad.

"It doesn't matter what I want," Tim says simply. 

It shouldn’t be a simple answer, but all of his  _ complex  _ brain functions are otherwise occupied. Even as his mouth protests, there's a constant commentary running behind Tim’s eyes, sirens in his head ringing out the news of how easy it would be for Martin to pick him up, to pin him down. He tries his damnedest not to let those thoughts run free to their natural conclusion, but, well. He's never been particularly famed for his self control.

Martin looms over him, eclipsing the dim light from a nearby street lamp. Tim can smell him, the same earthy musk that he came to know by heart back when they worked together, and it makes his stomach turn in a way that's not altogether unpleasant. 

Something occurs to him, then, some kind of Pavlovian response to ill-advised attraction, and he frowns minutely before turning his face up toward Martin. "Is Jon okay?" he asks bluntly, because if he tries to dance around it then he won't ask at all. "Is he…"

"Like me? No," Martin shakes his head with a soft, reassuring smile. "He's still just Jon. Archiving. He misses you."

"He said that?" Tim asks, momentarily full of naïve hope.

Martin laughs, not unkindly. "No, of course he didn't. But I know him, and he misses you."

Tim glares at him for a moment before looking down at the ground, frowning at the thought. He can't imagine Jon sulking without him, certainly not in a way that would be noticeable to anyone else. But they were… something, once, and they never got any closure, so he allows himself to believe that Jon does miss him. He feels a pang of guilt in his chest for the way he left, but he can’t bring himself to regret it.

Eventually, he swallows hard around the lump rising in his throat, looks up again. He can’t think too hard about Jon right now. Everything was already complicated back then, and now it’s a thousand different kinds of complicated, and Tim needs to focus on what’s going on here and now – which is also not ideal, but it’s much simpler than the mess of his history with Jon. And Jon’s not here.

Martin is just watching him, his face painted in a look of pensive sadness, and then he purses his lips for a long moment. He takes a deep inhale, folds his arms across his chest, looks Tim up and down.

"Evidently, people don't change  _ that _ much," he says, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a smile that's halfway between shy and endeared.

Tim frowns, his brow furrowing deeply. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I know your face, your mannerisms," Martin explains simply, his eyes sparkling. "Not to mention – augmented senses. I can hear your heartbeat, Tim, and I know you're not afraid of me. Could be nerves, or just heightened emotion of any kind, could be for Jon and not for me, but I don’t think that’s it."

Tensing up from head to toe, Tim takes a small step back, tightens his fingers on the handle of his gun. "Don't come any closer."

Martin snorts out a small laugh, which grinds Tim's gears but also reminds him how much he used to love making Martin laugh. "What are you going to do, love," he asks half-sardonically –  _ love, _ he says, like he's making this difficult on purpose – "shoot me?"

"You think I won't?" Tim's voice cracks down the middle. So much for confident and collected.

"I  _ know  _ you won't," Martin corrects him gently.

Tim squares his shoulders, narrows his eyes, tries not to show how close he is to melting under Martin's gaze. "And how's that?"

Another shrug. "Simple enough. I know you."

That's too much, somehow. Tim can't take it anymore, can't let this go on as if it's normal and okay, as if this isn't  _ Martin  _ he's talking to. "Can you – stop being all... smooth? It's highly unsettling."

Rolling his eyes, Martin leans in closer, and he's just as smooth as before when he replies, "Right, then what should I be?"

"Be Martin," Tim implores rather pathetically, "my Martin. Then we can talk about... other things."

"Oh, you're the only one who's allowed some pretense? You're the only one who gets a defense mechanism?" Martin's tone is bitter and sharp, his eyebrow raised elegantly as he levels Tim with a look somewhere between sad judgment and disbelief, and his words are jarring.

"No, that's not – I'm saying this is  _ weird," _ Tim fumbles to explain, "and it might be less weird if you weren't acting like this."

"You used to love when I acted like this," Martin points out matter-of-factly, though his eyes are round and sad. "You once told me that my  _ cocky voice _ made you want to  _ drop to your knees and present yourself as a hole for me to use." _

It takes a moment for Tim to swallow down the burning urge to give in. His mouth is dry, his dick is throbbing, but he has... principles. At least, he thinks he remembers having principles. "Yeah, well," he squeaks, voice breaking, then clears his throat before finishing, "that was different."

Martin laughs again, warm and full of feeling, and the sound goes straight to Tim's core. "How was it different, Tim? I can  _ smell  _ how turned on you are right now."

Humming thoughtfully, nervously, Tim averts his eyes before answering, quiet and hesitant. "Back then it was like, a rare treat to see you so sure of yourself," he tries to speak clearly. "Now it's... a rare treat to see you at all. And I'd like to see you like you used to be."

Martin shrugs one shoulder, his feigned apathy clearly covering something deeper, a wistful longing brewing just below the surface. "Can't always get what you want," he mutters, then raises an eyebrow and adds dryly: "People change."

Tim huffs out a bitter, humorless laugh. "Yeah, I can see that."

"I do miss you," Martin says by way of consolation.

"I miss you too," Tim mumbles after a long moment of hesitation.

Martin closes his eyes, breathes out slowly through his nose. "You're the one who left, Tim," he says, and his voice sounds small and sad. "I begged you to stay."

Fuck. "I know."

"I'd take you now," he continues, "if you asked."

Jesus fucking Christ. "I know."

"I want you," Martin murmurs.

God fucking damn it. "I know."

Then comes the million dollar question: "So what are you going to do?"

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose, takes a deep inhale, exhale, and finally mumbles, "I don't know."

Leaning in close, Martin raises his brows, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "Are you open to suggestions?"

Tim swallows hard, his mouth running dry and his tongue feeling heavy. "I could be," he says hoarsely.

"I think we should go back to yours," Martin replies without a second's hesitation, almost flippant.

"Is that what you think?" Tim balks, his eyes wide.

"Come on, Tim, don't act surprised," Martin says with a little tilt of his head, a pout of his lower lip. "I’m not going to hurt you. I’m still me. We both know you want this. Why not just let it happen and worry about the rest later?"

Tim does put in a heroic effort to say no, but when it comes down to it – he doesn't actually  _ want  _ to say no. He very much wants to say yes. He misses Martin something awful, his smile and his voice and his body. He's soft and sweet and warm and Tim just wants to get his hands on him again. So it's not really a surprise to either of them when Tim reaches out and does just that.

He strokes Martin's ears gently, relishing the novel sensation, pets the soft fur and runs his fingers along the edges of them before dragging his hands down. He cradles Martin's cheeks in both his palms and pulls him down into a kiss, fierce and deep, and Martin responds instantly, settling his hands on Tim's waist.

His fingers nearly wrap all the way around, circling Tim's waist with a firm grip and pulling him in until his feet lift off the ground, and – that is  _ so  _ hot, Tim can't help but moan wantonly against Martin's mouth. His hands are warm and  _ big, _ claws digging gently into Tim's back, not enough to hurt, but enough to make him whine. It feels so good to be enveloped like this again, to be held by anyone, but especially by Martin. Lovely, beautiful Martin, who always used to make him feel safe and comfortable and needed.

He certainly feels needed now, as Martin licks into his mouth, all hot and clever, hungry and frantic. Tim feels the gentle danger of sharp teeth grazing his lip and all he can think is how good it’s going to feel when those teeth are on his neck or his hips or his inner thighs. 

There's a hint of shame creeping in at the corners of his mind, a twinkling of alarm bells telling him he shouldn't be so turned on by the thought of being bitten by a werewolf, but, well. He is. Turned on, that is. And it's not just any werewolf. It's  _ Martin. _

Tim pulls away from Martin's mouth just barely, so his lips still graze Martin's as he whispers, "My place, you said?"

"Yeah," Martin answers just as softly. "Want you to feel – like you've got some control?"

And although he won't say it, Tim melts at that. Of course Martin is thinking about that, and of course he's trying his hardest to prove to Tim that he’s safe. Tim believes it more with every second, because no matter how he's changed, Martin just keeps being Martin. Tim takes his hand, feels it warm and big and soft in his own, and lets Martin lead the way.

"I'm surprised you haven't moved by now," is the first thing Martin says when they step inside Tim's flat – the flat where they had drinks and movie nights and occasionally slept together, years ago. "I just would've thought, with all the danger, that you'd have jumped around a bit."

"Not me," Tim replies, under his breath. "I prefer to stick with a place."

"But not people."

The words are almost inaudible, and Tim spins on his heel to face Martin with something hot and nauseous bubbling in his throat. "Don't," he hisses. "Don't do that. I got out when I needed to. You stayed. That was your choice, and look where it got you."

"You're right," Martin says with a quick shake of his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I don't want to fight."

"Me neither."

"Then let's not."

Tim pauses, closes his eyes, takes a slow, deep breath. "Fine," he says at length, all the anger and tension and hesitation leaving him in a rush. "Fine, let's not. Just – fuck me, then."

Martin takes a step forward, closing the gap between them until they're standing almost flush from hip to shoulder. "No need to sound so enthusiastic about it," he murmurs. "If you don't want it, I can leave."

"No," Tim says, too quickly to be anything but embarrassing, then snaps his mouth shut with an audible click before continuing, quieter. "No, I want – I want you. I do."

"That's what I thought," Martin replies, all adorably self-satisfied, and dives in to kiss him.

All the breath leaves Tim in one frozen second before he leans the full weight of his body against Martin's chest, letting Martin's arms wind around his neck and hold him securely, the only thing stopping him from dropping to the floor. 

Martin makes the sweetest little noises, even now that he's all confident and imposing, still whimpers into Tim's open mouth just like the first time. And then Tim thinks about the first time and he can't help but squeeze his thighs together in anticipation of what's to come, all the different ways Martin could wreck him.

After a time, Martin detaches from Tim's lips, leaves him gasping and pushing into his touch as he kisses a sloppy trail along the line of Tim's jaw and down to his throat. He stops there, his hot breath ghosting across Tim's damp and sensitive skin, and huffs out a tiny sound, something that Tim thinks might be a laugh. He doesn't get the chance to ask, though, because in the next second he feels the sharp, delicious sting of Martin's teeth against his neck.

He doesn't break the skin, delicate though it is, just presses hard enough that Tim knows he could, if he wanted to. As if Tim wasn't already profoundly aware of  _ that  _ fact. Just thinking about it makes him moan and bring his hand up to twist in Martin's hair, pulling him in. Martin bites down just a little harder before redirecting his energy to sucking a deep bruise into Tim's skin, only pulling away when Tim lets out another high, whining moan, his free hand clutching uselessly at Martin's shirt.

When he straightens up and looks Tim in the eyes again, Martin smiles, licks his lips idly. "You're so lovely," he says, casual as anything, his eyes glistening. "So sweet for me, aren’t you?"

"Yeah," Tim answers without really thinking about it. "Been too long. Lots of lost time to make up for."

"Is that so?" Martin raises an eyebrow at him. "Want me to show you how much I’ve missed you?"

Tim just moans at that, melts against Martin's chest once again, doesn't even have the wherewithal to internally scold himself for how absolutely pathetic he's acting. It makes sense to be this way, when it's Martin. Nobody else could elicit this kind of reaction from Tim. Of course there are others who turn him on, but Martin’s thrall over him is nothing like the way it always felt with Jon – not more or less, just different, very different.

He shakes off that thought, rolls his shoulders to ground himself back in the moment, breathes soft against Martin's neck. Nods his head, though he's not sure if he's answering a question or just saying  _ yes, yes, please _ to all of it.

Martin holds him, properly wraps him up in his arms and presses a gentle kiss to the top of his head. "You smell nice," he remarks absently.

Before he can think better of it, Tim quips, "In a sexy way or a food way?"

"Christ, Tim," Martin laughs, incredulous and unamused, and steps back to hold him at arm's length. "I'm not going to  _ eat  _ you. Is that what you think of me?"

"No, no," Tim replies hastily, shaking his head. "No, it was a dumb joke. I know you wouldn't. I – I... trust you?"

"So it's a question, is it?"

"I trust you," Tim repeats, firmer. "It's just been a while since I could truthfully say that to anyone."

"Oh,  _ Tim," _ Martin whispers sadly, his brow furrowed. "You're – God, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry this has happened to you."

Tim snorts derisively, gives Martin a wistful once-over. "I could say the same. At least I chose this."

Martin's eyes fall closed again and he breathes a long, low exhale. His hand comes to rest on Tim's face, his thumb grazing the sharp cheekbone, light as a feather. "Tim," he murmurs, his voice so soft it hurts, "you didn't choose to be alone. I'm – I don't want to let you be alone anymore. Please let me take care of you."

Leaning into Martin's touch, Tim closes his eyes as well, presses his lips together in a tight line before responding. "You have me right now," he says, slow and hesitant. "We'll see about tomorrow."

Before Martin can say anything else, Tim stretches up to kiss him, fast and messy. His arms wrap around Martin's neck, their lips colliding with a crushing force, and Martin's mouth opens for him, hot and inviting. Bringing his hands up to pet Martin's ears softly, Tim pulls Martin with him, stepping blindly, refusing to let go of him as he leads them to the bedroom, and he only retreats from the kiss when the backs of his knees hit the corner of his bed.

He's panting slightly when he whispers, "Take your clothes off, please," and Martin pauses to catch his breath before stepping back to do so. Tim takes the opportunity to do the same, stripping quickly and methodically and throwing his clothes in the corner of the room. When he turns back to face Martin, he's naked and watching Tim with a deadly heat in his eyes, and Tim wants to let himself melt completely under that gaze.

"You're..." Tim pauses, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and lets out a shaky exhale. He takes a moment to drink in the sight of Martin's body – soft and curved, all dark skin and thick hair and his new claws and ears and  _ fuck, _ he looks  _ so... _ "Gorgeous. You're beautiful. God, I've missed you."

"I've missed you," Martin echoes back to him in a voice like a hot cup of tea. "Come here, lie down. It's been far too long since I've got my mouth on you."

Tim scrambles to comply, diving onto the bed and rolling over, leaning back against the pillows and looking up at Martin expectantly. Martin climbs on the bed after him and shuffles forward on his knees, and Tim finally sees that he does, in fact, have a little tail, fluffy and covered in the same thick curls as the rest of him. 

Martin puts his hands on Tim's thighs and watches Tim spread his legs immediately, finally settling with his hands on Tim's hips. He squeezes lightly, feeling the give of Tim's soft flesh, watching the blood flow back to his skin after he releases his grip. 

Squirming under Martin's gaze, Tim whines under his breath, tries to push up to get closer to Martin's mouth. Martin chuckles at that, pulls back a bit, licks his lips meaningfully.

"How would you like me to make you come?" he murmurs, his breath hot against Tim's skin. "I want to see you fall apart for me."

"Please, Martin," Tim says breathily, shifting his hips up. "Do whatever you want to me, seriously, anything."

"Oh, sweetheart," Martin breathes, soft as anything. "I'm going to make you feel so good."

A shiver runs through Tim from head to toe, his hips bucking up involuntarily, and another whine bubbles up from his throat. "You always do," he murmurs, as if no time had passed since the last time they did this. "You're so good to me, baby, so good, I –"

He cuts off abruptly with a sharp breath as Martin dips low and licks between his folds without warning. His tongue is broad and wet and hot on Tim's sensitive nerves, swiping the tip over his slick entrance and dragging it up to circle around his swollen cock. Tim's hands fly instinctively to Martin's hair, carding through his thick curls desperately, gently, stroking his ears as Martin bobs his head, eating him out with a singular determination.

"Fuck," is the most eloquent response Tim can muster for the deft motions of Martin's tongue. He feels the vibrations of Martin's answering chuckle at that, which only makes him fall apart even further.

After a few shallow thrusts of his tongue inside Tim, Martin refocuses his efforts upward, gives a few kitten licks to the tip of his cock before taking it between his full lips and swirling his tongue around it. One hand slides down across the curve of Tim's stomach to nudge between his legs, spreading him slowly. The pad of his index finger presses lightly at Tim's entrance, testing, teasing.

"Martin," Tim whines, clenching down around nothing.

"What's that, love?" Martin looks up at him with a wry gleam in his eyes, pulling his mouth away from Tim's cock for a devastating moment before returning to his ministrations. He's a bit smug, but he deserves to be, being as good at this as he is, and he's still so painfully earnest. He doubles down on sucking and licking Tim's dick and simultaneously angles his gaze up to give Tim an expectant look.

He has to steel himself to speak coherently with Martin's mouth on him, but Tim manages well enough between breathy moans and expletives. "Please let me have your fingers," he whines wantonly. "I'm so wet, so fucking hot for you, I want you to fuck me open. Want to come on your fingers,  _ please, _ Martin."

Evidently satisfied with that, Martin smiles against his slick folds and presses his finger inside without any ceremony. The wet of Tim's arousal eases the way, and his claws are blunt enough that it doesn't hurt as Martin pumps his finger in and out, still sucking Tim's cock with hungry little groans. His free hand squeezes Tim's hip, his grip tightening in pulses hard enough to bruise, threatening to break skin, and Tim's whole body shakes with how turned on he is.

When Martin pushes two fingers in deep, crooks them perfectly and grazes Tim's folds with his teeth, it's all Tim can do to keep from screaming. "Martin," he moans, his head thrown back against the pillows, his fingers tugging at Martin's hair. "I'm so close, Martin, please, please let me – I want to come for you, can I –  _ please." _

Martin pulls away, looks up at Tim's face and grins, wide and bright, his lips shining with spit and Tim's arousal, his sharp teeth stark against his skin. "Beautiful," he purrs, continuing to fuck his fingers in and out of Tim's hole. "Such a good boy for me, aren't you?"

Tim whimpers at that, and again when Martin teases the tip of his ring finger at the rim of his entrance, pushing in with a slow, almost indulgent pleasure. The stretch is delicious, filling him so perfectly, and Martin wastes no time in fucking him hard and deep on his three thick fingers.

Martin watches Tim's face for a few seconds, savors his slack jaw and parted lips and the dark spots of color splashed high across his cheekbones. He's gorgeous, as always, and Martin can't help but smile at the sight of him all disheveled like this. After he takes his moment, he dives down again to bury his face between Tim's legs, thrusting his fingers in and out of his tight hole, sucking and licking his cock until he reaches his peak.

Tim cries out, shakes apart beneath Martin, gushing over his chin and fingers, and Martin sucks and licks at him through it, lapping up the taste of him like a man starved. His fingers keep pumping in and out of Tim, pulling wrecked moans and whimpers from him with each thrust, rubbing up against the most sensitive spots inside him as he keens through the pulsing aftershocks. He lets out one high, broken moan, grinding up into Martin's mouth and clenching around his fingers before sagging back against the mattress.

Martin makes a contented little noise, licks a broad stripe from Tim's entrance up to his twitching, oversensitive cock, then finally relents. He eases his fingers out, swiping them through the mess around Tim's wrecked hole and pulling away to sit back on his knees.

“God, I missed that,” he murmurs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and pushing his hair out of his eyes. His ears perk up adorably as he tilts his head and asks, “Are you alright?”

“Am I – yeah, Martin, I’m alright,” Tim replies with an incredulous little laugh. “Come here, lovely.”

Smiling broadly, Martin leans over the length of Tim’s body, bracing himself on one hand and dipping low to kiss him. Tim eagerly sucks Martin’s tongue into his mouth, tasting himself and whimpering against Martin’s lips. His hands fall from Martin’s hair, sliding down to his shoulders and further, caressing over his skin, soft and beautiful and covered in a thick dusting of hair, until finally Tim manages to wrap his fingers around the wrist of Martin’s free hand. He pulls, and Martin detaches himself from the kiss to look at him quizzically.

“Please,” Tim whispers hoarsely, eyelashes fluttering. “Please let me – I want them in my mouth.”

“Of course you do,” Martin answers with a sweet little tilt of his head, a soft smile.

He sits up, pulling Tim with him, supporting his weight easily with one hand around his waist, which sends a jolt of arousal through Tim’s core. He feels breathless, his chest pressed up against Martin’s, nosing into the crook of his neck without a care for how needy he’s being.

The scent of him is intoxicating. Tim inhales deeply with his nose and mouth against Martin’s skin; he wants to taste, but then Martin grabs his chin between two fingers, bringing his attention back to what he really wants. Martin tilts his face up, and Tim lets his mouth fall open obediently.

“Good,” Martin coos at him as he slips three fingers between Tim’s lips. “Look at you, so pretty.”

Tim preens, moans around Martin’s fingers, sucks them clean with hungry little whimpers coming from his chest. His tongue, hot and slick, runs along the points of Martin's claws, slips between Martin’s fingers and wraps around them deftly, cleaning the taste of himself from Martin’s hand. He relishes the feeling of having something in his mouth, always has, and when Martin’s fingertips hit the back of his throat he only moans and takes them deeper, sucks harder, tightens his grip on Martin’s forearm and his waist.

Martin smiles at him, flashing his teeth, and strokes Tim’s cheek with his free hand, gentle as anything. Tim’s eyes fall shut sort of naturally when he’s like this, when he’s got something to suck on, but he cracks a peek at Martin every few seconds and finds him every time just watching Tim with an open, adoring heat in his eyes.

Meeting Martin’s gaze only turns Tim on even more, of course, as does the way Martin thrusts his fingers in deep, pets Tim’s tongue lightly, traces the line of his teeth. Tim gradually moves in closer, wrapping his arms around Martin’s shoulders and shifting his hips in little movements like he’s trying to be sneaky, until the point where he’s straddling Martin’s thigh and rutting up against him rhythmically.

After only a few seconds of that, Martin pulls his fingers from Tim’s mouth – Tim tries to chase him as he moves away, but Martin is too fast, and he levels Tim with a look that says it’s a good idea to sit still. “Eager, aren’t you?”

“You’re bloody right I’m eager,” Tim grumbles, attempting to glare at him and failing miserably. “I need you in me, like, yesterday.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Martin says with a fond grin as he pulls away entirely, leaving Tim looking bereft and pathetic in the middle of the bed. Tim sighs, pouts a bit, but lets Martin go to the nightstand without any further complaint. It’s a good view, at least, and Tim isn’t hesitant to look his fill. He slumps down on the sheets, lets his eyes rove slowly over the swell of Martin’s ass, his thighs, the tuft of his tail.

“You know," Martin muses wistfully as he pulls open a drawer in the nightstand where he knows Tim keeps his lube, even after all this time, "it's too bad we can't be sure about tomorrow, because I know how bad you want my cock, but I’d really like to switch it up as well.”

Tim hums an acknowledgement, a noise that could be taken as noncommittal, but really is just distracted. Martin shoots him a look over his shoulder, a raised eyebrow and a slight frown, and Tim blurts out the first thing he can think of to let Martin know where his head is at.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he breathes, voice full of wonder, and then Martin fully turns back around to face him, and his mouth starts to actually water, and he barely manages to eke out a strangled  _ “Please.” _

Chuckling gently at him, Martin shakes his head and climbs back on the bed to join him. “What's up, sweetheart? You need something?”

“Put your dick in my mouth,” Tim says, without thinking for even a second. He shakes his head, frowns and looks up at Martin’s face again. “Sorry, I should be more eloquent. You deserve poetry.”

“Go on, then,” Martin tells him, lightly amused and incredibly endeared. “I’d like to hear your stab at poetry, if you don’t mind.”

Groaning, Tim rolls his eyes and sits back on his heels. “Fine,” he sighs, “if you insist.” Martin only raises an eyebrow at him, an excited gleam in his eyes, so Tim takes another breath and speaks, low and slow and quite serious in spite of his words. “I would very much like to take your fat cock all the way down my throat. I want to feel it sitting heavy on my tongue, stretching my jaw until it hurts, sliding in between my lips while you fuck my face. I want you to hold me by the hair and make a mess of me, please.  _ Please, _ beautiful, I’ll do anything.”

It’s gratifying to watch Martin’s body stiffen and a shiver roll through him – Tim could almost feel smug about it, if it weren’t for, well, everything else about their situation. Martin’s biting his lip and closing his eyes and breathing all shaky, like he’s on the edge of losing control, and Tim freezes and waits for him to make a move.

What he says, after a long minute of quiet, is simply, “That wasn’t very poetical at all.”

“Cut me some slack,” Tim objects defensively, “I’m not the poet here! I’m just the guy who sucks the dicks.”

“ _ Don’t ask me, I just work here,” _ Martin mocks under his breath.

“And I do a damned good job of it,” Tim declares with a decisive nod. “Are you going to let me do it or not?”

“Yeah, of course I am,” says Martin, sounding simultaneously resigned to giving in and a bit insulted that Tim ever thought he wouldn’t. He wraps a hand around the back of Tim’s head and pulls him into a quick kiss, hot and messy, before letting his fingers tangle into a handful of Tim’s hair and pull lightly. “Don’t get carried away, love. I still have to fuck you properly.”

Eyes going wide and glassy, Tim dives down between Martin’s thighs, spread perfectly for him. He starts with little flicks of his tongue across the tip of Martin’s cock, just tasting him, giving him the reins to escalate when he feels like it. Tim could lap at the head of Martin’s cock just like this for hours, catching each drop of precome as it beads at the tip, and enjoy himself just fine, but he’s also desperate to just bury his nose in the thick curls at the root and swallow Martin’s cock down completely.

Still, he waits until Martin gets impatient enough to tighten his grip, tugging at his scalp. Tim whines at that, a high, thin noise from his throat, and opens his mouth to let Martin in. Martin lets Tim have control of his movement, taking Martin’s length at his own pace, which happens to be rather quick, all in one go until the tip hits the back of his throat and he swallows, constricting around the head of Martin’s cock beautifully.

Martin lets out a choked sound and bucks gently into Tim’s mouth, claws scratching at his scalp, which only encourages him further. He runs the tip of his tongue along the underside of Martin’s cock, relishing the taste of him and the velvet heat of his skin. With little moans and whimpers escaping him, Tim bobs his head up and down the length of it, wraps one hand around the back of Martin’s thigh and holds him tight.

He’s thick, always was, but now it’s even more true. Tim could swear Martin’s cock has grown in length and girth along with the rest of him, and it would make sense, wouldn’t it? Whatever made him like this, made him monstrous and bestial and  _ huge, _ it just makes sense that it would affect every part of him, and Tim is nothing but thankful for that, in this moment. Martin’s pillowy thighs and stomach, his sturdy arms, the thick hair dusted over his body – that’s always been a big part of the appeal, for Tim, and the fact that it’s all amplified now – well, he loves it.

He pulls off of Martin’s cock with a wet pop, looking up at his face with unabashed reverence. “I need you,” he pants, hoarse and strained, “inside me. Now, please.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Martin murmurs.

His voice is so gentle it hurts, and he reaches down to grab Tim’s hands, helps him rise to his knees and lean his body against Martin’s. Tim starts absently mouthing at his neck, wrapping his arms around Martin’s waist, until Martin grabs him by the hair again and pulls his face out of the juncture of his shoulder and throat, pulls him back to give him a stern sort of look, though still with so much earnest adoration that it hurts.

Tim lets out a little whine at that, and Martin laughs once under his breath before remarking, “You’re getting bold. Turn around, please.” Tim complies immediately, leaning his head back against Martin’s shoulder; Martin presses a short kiss to his temple, his lips quirking up at the corners. “So good for me,” he mumbles against Tim’s hair.

When Martin sits back on his heels, he pulls Tim with him, with only one hand across his chest, and Tim – he’s not a very small guy, he’s got some heft to him, but Martin moves him effortlessly, and it drives him fucking crazy. He leans into Martin’s hold, pressing back against his chest, and grinds his ass down on Martin’s cock. 

Martin’s got his free hand down between Tim’s legs to play with his dick, slowly, as if with no particular goal in mind except to touch while he nuzzles his nose into Tim’s hair and kisses his neck. Tim is holding onto Martin’s arm like a lifeline, his legs spread wide enough to put a strain on his thigh muscles in the best way, gasping and squirming as Martin takes advantage of his knowledge of his most sensitive areas.

Eventually, Tim has the presence of mind in between bucking his hips in little circles and grinding into Martin’s hand to get a bit bold again.  _ Bold _ is actually a charitable way of putting it, he thinks, because it feels a lot more like  _ desperate _ than anything else, but he’ll take his wins where he can get them.

“Martin,” he whines pathetically, “if you don’t fuck me really soon, I’m going to come on your hand, and then I might be out of commission.”

“You won’t,” Martin says, simple and sure, and then he pauses, stops the motion of his fingers, and when he speaks again, it’s with far less confidence. “If you’re planning on leaving, or worse, as soon as we’re done here, then you’ll have to forgive me for wanting to take my time.”

Tim has to gather himself before he can process the meaning of that, and then he has to compose himself in a different sense before he can respond to it. “Is that what this is about?” he asks, twisting his head to try to catch Martin’s eyes. “How long do you think you can make this last?”

“Oh, all night, at least,” Martin replies bashfully, loosing his hold on Tim to allow him to comfortably turn around and face him.

“And how were you planning on doing that?”

“I was going to keep you on the edge for a while, really savor getting to touch you.” Martin speaks quickly, trying and failing to keep the waver of emotion out of his voice. He pauses as a shiver passes through Tim’s body, but soon continues, “Then I was going to let you come on my fingers, and fuck you right after that – aiming for the overstimulation angle, you know. Make you come again on my cock, call you a few dirty names, finish inside you, just like old times.”

“And then?”

“Well, with any luck, then you’d be all tired and adorable, and you’d fall asleep," Martin answers, averting his gaze in embarrassment. "And in the morning, I could convince you to jump in the shower with me, maybe go down on you again? And then you’d need breakfast, of course, and I would cook something for you. And after that, anything could happen, but I’d hoped... in the end... that you would decide not to leave.”

Tim fumbles for words, takes a deep breath and blows it out through his teeth. “Martin…”

With a petulant little sniff, Martin runs a hand through his hair and drops his forehead to rest on Tim’s shoulder. “No, I know, it’s stupid. I can’t make you stay, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not stupid,” Tim tells him rather fiercely. “It’s sweet. All that anxious shit, the thought you put into it… it’s very  _ you. _ You’re… more you than I expected.”

“Never been anyone else,” Martin mutters, the words muffled by his lips against Tim’s skin. “Never wanted to be, anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” says Tim, the words leaving his mouth as abruptly as the thought enters his mind. “For… being like that. I was scared, honestly, and surprised to see you, and I thought being defensive would keep me from getting hurt, but you’d – you’d never hurt me. I know that. I’m not running away anytime soon, I promise. Not again.”

Martin takes a moment, closes his eyes and inhales deeply, rubs his hands along Tim’s arms, where they’ve come to rest during the conversation. “Okay,” he says slowly, evenly, giving a little nod as he swallows hard. “Alright. Good. In that case – let’s get on, yeah?”

His shoulders sagging in relief, Tim nods his head and then leans into Martin bodily, knocking a little sound from him with the impact, which is quickly muffled by Tim’s mouth swallowing up any noise that bubbles up from Martin’s throat. Tim licks along the seam of Martin’s lips, slips his tongue between them with renewed fervor. Martin opens up for him and slides his own tongue against Tim’s, grabbing his face in both hands and kissing him back just as desperately.

Tim only pulls away when Martin moans something that feels like it might be a word. He gives Martin a pleading look, pouts for a moment, and speaks before Martin has the chance. “Will you just fuck me, please?" he whines, sounding miserable and pathetic. "We've got all the time in the world for that other stuff, you can edge me for hours and that later, but I need you,  _ please. _ I  _ need _ you."

"Yeah, love, I can do that." Martin murmurs the words in his ear before pulling away, settling back in a seated position against the headboard, and pats his thighs lightly, raising an eyebrow in invitation. "Come here."

Tim dives across the bed, fumbling to his knees and straddling Martin's lap as fast as he possibly can. He sits in close, his legs spread wide and his folds catching Martin's cock as he shifts. Martin's hands move to his hips and he squeezes when Tim grinds down on him.

"I should warn you," Martin says abruptly, furrowing his brow, "there are some. Biological oddities, with the whole thing. I'm fairly sure you won't mind, but I should definitely let you know."

"Let me know what?"

"When I'm... you know, fucking someone, the base of my dick sort of swells?" Martin's face is burning up, his cheeks flushed dark and radiating heat, and he makes such a valiant effort not to be embarrassed, not to hide himself away. "It's the only thing, the rest is normal, I promise."

"Swells, like. Gets bigger?" Tim asks breathlessly. "While it's inside?"

"Basically, yeah. It can have a sort of – it can make it difficult to pull out, too, but not impossible."

"That is so fucking hot."

Martin freezes, cocks his head to the side, caught off guard. "It is?"

Emphasizing his point by grinding down against Martin again, Tim nods his head. "You are perfect," he whispers fiercely, "and your body is perfect, and all the things it does are perfect. To have  _ more _ of you? Dream come true."

After a moment of stunned staring, Martin blinks a few times in succession, bites his lip bashfully. "Alright, then," he says shakily, “that’s… good to know.” He catches Tim’s eye for a brief second, gives him a shy little smile, and sets to work spreading a liberal amount of lube over his cock.

"Alright, then," Tim shoots back with a grin. He pushes himself up on his knees using Martin's shoulders as leverage, gives him the room and the time to slick himself up, and then presses one quick kiss to Martin's lips before adding, "Help me out here, please? I'm so ready for you."

Martin smiles at him, moves one hand from Tim's hip to take his cock and guide it to line up with Tim's entrance. He's trembling, they both are, but once Tim catches the tip, it's easy enough to take the rest. Martin watches Tim's face, using all his willpower not to buck his hips.

Tim takes Martin's cock inside him slowly and steadily, relishing the feeling of fullness and the slight stretch and the burn of his thighs and Martin's shaky breaths and whimpers. Neither of them says anything until Tim is fully seated on Martin's cock, his walls constricting experimentally to feel how big it is. He places his hands flat against Martin's chest, gives the soft swell of flesh a little squeeze, runs his fingers through the hair there and rubs over Martin's nipples with the pads of his thumbs.

"Can I tell you something?" Tim asks, quiet and earnest. "I've had this sex dream before. More than once, actually."

"Have you?" Martin chuckles disbelievingly, thrusting up into Tim, knocking the wind out of him.

"Yeah," says Tim once he regains his breath, still panting shallowly. "You know, hunting. See a lot of monsters. Some of them look like you, with the hair and the teeth, which is. Objectively, very sexy. Then there's the mental block of not wanting to find a random monster sexy. So my subconscious. Turned them into you, sometimes. Pretty standard stuff."

"Pretty standard," Martin scoffs. His cheeks are burning up and he's avoiding Tim's eyes, staring down at the place where their bodies meet. He settles his hand over Tim's lower stomach, presses down lightly, and exhales a sigh full of wonder. "I can see myself inside you," he whispers.

Tim looks down immediately, eyes going wide when he sees the slight bulge in his stomach from Martin's cock. He brings his hand to blanket Martin's, pushing against the shape of it and moaning out loud. "Fuck," he whines, tracing the outline of it with his fingers, effectively stroking Martin's cock through his skin.

Moving his hips in small circles, Tim shifts gently against Martin and leans in to kiss him again, hot and open and filthy. He wraps his arms around Martin’s neck and licks eagerly into his mouth, runs his tongue along the points of Martin’s canines, shudders and moans at the sensation. Martin's body is broad and soft and warm beneath him; Tim thinks he could happily melt right here. He lifts his hips up just a bit, then shifts back down to take Martin to the hilt again. Martin lets out a choked little sound, almost a growl, and Tim repeats the motion to hear it again, committing it to memory.

"Fuck," Martin mutters under his breath, his fingers tightening on Tim's hips, claws digging into the skin. "So good, sweetheart, you feel so good."

Encouraged, Tim starts riding him in earnest, his thighs burning from the effort as he lifts and lowers himself to fuck himself on Martin's cock. It's good, the fullness and the depth of it, the sight of the bulge in his stomach, and the workout is not quite a drawback, either. He has experience in this, at least, and he likes being able to set his own pace – slow, but not too slow, he savors every inch of Martin's cock as he moves up and down the length of it, the drag of hot, hard flesh against his inner walls.

Breaths coming fast and shallow, Martin keeps his hands firm on Tim's hips, his eyes on Tim's face. He sees Tim becoming more desperate, his thrusts uneven and shaky, but doesn't do much in the way of helping out with the manual labor until Tim whines and falters in his movements.

"What’s wrong, love?"

"Need help," Tim implores, his lower lip pouting out a bit, "please."

"Of course," Martin assures him, smooth and soft. "What kind of help?"

Tim huffs out an indignant little breath, clenching down around Martin's cock and trying to keep fucking himself with weak hip motions. "Want you to help me move," he mumbles, slumping against Martin's chest and mouthing at his throat. "Want you to use your big, strong hands and bounce me on your dick until you come."

Lips parted from stunned arousal, Martin takes a shallow breath before nodding at Tim enthusiastically. “I’ve got you, don’t worry," he murmurs with a little smile.

He moves to wrap his hands around Tim's waist, claws pressing into his skin, and squeezes hard for a moment. Tim whimpers at that and tightens around him, bucking his hips involuntarily. Martin uses his hold on Tim to lift him almost all the way off of his cock, holds him there with just the head inside him, and lowers him again, slower even than Tim was going before. Tim is shaking, his jaw slack, a near-constant string of moans and whimpers leaving him as he takes Martin's cock inch by inch.

"You like that, sweetheart?" Martin whispers hotly against Tim's cheek. "Does it feel good?"

"God, it's so good," Tim slurs into Martin's hair, shifting his hips in circles to feel the length of him pressing on his sensitive inner walls. "Feels so good inside me, thank you, you make me feel so good." He's babbling, high-pitched and strained, and whatever tiny part of him feels embarrassed about it is just waiting for Martin to stop him. "Yeah, just like that," he gasps when Martin's cock drives into him in a particularly rough thrust, "right there, thank you, thank you, I love you –"

And that's where Martin stops him, lets him down onto the full length of his cock before releasing him, pressing two thick fingers against Tim's lips gently until he opens his mouth. When he does, Martin pets his tongue with his fingers before thrusting them in and letting Tim close his lips around them. Tim starts sucking without hesitation, grateful for being made to shut up, and continues fucking himself on Martin's cock.

His free hand returning to Tim's hip, fingers wrapping around to the small of his back, Martin helps lift him up and meets him halfway with little thrusts up into the tight heat of him. "So sweet," he murmurs as Tim's eyes slip closed. "Such a sweet thing for me."

Tim moans around his fingers, squeezes Martin's cock tight inside him. He's getting close, he can feel it building, but he won't come until Martin wants him to. Martin's getting close as well, which Tim knows both from his loss of composure and the way he can feel the base of Martin's cock swelling – gradually, not so quickly that he can't take it, but enough to be noticeable and enough to make him moan every time Martin bucks up into him and it stretches his hole just that much more.

He can tell when they pass the point of no return, like the suspended moment at the top of the first hill of a roller coaster. Martin is settled deep inside him, the base of his cock almost doubled in girth, and Tim finds that it's more effort than it's worth to try to keep moving along the length of it. He whines, grinds his hips down in little circles, wordlessly begging, watching the shape of Martin's length shift inside him.

"That's it, love," Martin whispers roughly. His eyes burn hot into Tim’s skin, his claws digging into Tim’s back as he tightens his grip. "You want to come on my cock?"

Tim nods as frantically as he can manage with Martin's fingers still in his mouth, and Martin brings his other hand between Tim's legs. He drags his fingers through the mess of slick, presses against the rim of his stretched hole, and finally takes his swollen dick and jerks it between two fingers. Tim rolls his hips frantically against Martin's hand, whining around the fingers in his mouth as he chases his orgasm desperately.

It comes over him in waves, his knees squeezing in tight at Martin's sides and his walls constricting around Martin's cock. Martin bucks up into him in jerky little thrusts, grunting softly each time he grinds deeper into the tight heat of Tim's hole. Tim's still shaking through his orgasm when Martin stiffens and spills inside him in several long pulses, hot and fast.

Tim shudders at the sensation, rolling his hips and wringing the last of Martin's orgasm from him with wanton whimpers. He's slumped against Martin's chest, his cheek rubbing against the thick blanket of hair, breathing in the scent of Martin and sweat and sex, still sucking unconsciously on Martin's fingers as they both pant through the aftermath of their climax.

Once their breathing evens out, Martin pulls his fingers from Tim's mouth, tracing his lower lip with his claws before wrapping his arms around Tim, holding him tight against his chest. Tim nuzzles into his thick fur absently, seeking the warmth of his body like a reflex, homing in on the sound of his heartbeat to ground him.

Martin gives him a minute, pressing soft kisses to the top of his head every few seconds until Tim starts to get restless and squirm in his grasp. He wordlessly grabs Tim's hips and helps to ease him off Martin's softening cock, only to settle back in his lap within seconds, leaning into him with everything he has. 

When Martin squeezes Tim’s waist a bit too hard, Tim winces, tenses up in his hold as Martin’s fingers press into fresh scratches on his lower back. “Sorry, sorry,” Martin whispers, and Tim nods and mumbles something inaudible but reassuring. “Don’t know my own claws,” Martin adds with a shake of his head, then sighs and brings his hands up to either side of Tim's face.

He actually has to apply a little bit of strength to make Tim lift his head, but he utters a gentle, "Look at me," and Tim obeys instantly. His lip is quivering, his eyes wide, and Martin offers him a reassuring smile before pressing, "What was that you said earlier?"

After a few long seconds of trying to pretend he doesn't know exactly what Martin means, Tim mumbles something incoherent, his cheeks burning up. Martin shakes his head and clicks his tongue, looking so sickeningly sympathetic that it almost makes Tim want to cry.

"Speak up, love," Martin commands softly. "There's a good boy."

"I said," Tim ventures cautiously, "I love you."

"That's what I thought," Martin tells him with a smile. "Do you want to take that back? Your choice. I know things just come out sometimes, when you get like this. I would understand if you didn't mean it."

Rolling his eyes, gnawing at his lower lip, Tim takes a moment to think about it. "I meant it," he says eventually, simple and bashful and quiet. "Always have. Just – things were complicated, and I never got the chance to tell you."

Almost before the words are out of his mouth, Martin pulls him into a searing kiss, sucking in a sharp breath and letting it out on a moan. It's quick, too quick, no time at all before Martin pulls away again, but Tim can't bring himself to be upset about that when Martin is looking at him the way he is, all doe-eyed and sweet. 

He smiles in spite of himself, in spite of how thoroughly embarrassed he is to have let it slip, in spite of how raw and vulnerable it feels to have it out there in the open, where it could be used to hurt him. This is why he doesn't usually do these things – forming attachments, that is – but Martin has always been special. There were other factors back in the day that muddied the picture, mostly Jon related, but now the picture can’t get much muddier, and Tim’s just thankful to have the chance to look at it again. 

He's overthinking it, of course he is, he always does. But at the same time, he's quite underthinking it, given the inherent complexities of the situation. He's not sure how much thinking is the  _ right  _ amount for when you run into your old friend who you used to occasionally sleep with and he's a werewolf monster now and you're a monster hunter and he's hot and sweet and so different and so much the same and you can't  _ not _ fuck him when he's looking at you like that and you accidentally tell him you love him while he's inside you and he asks you about it and you stand by it and you keep thinking about your other old friend and how badly you miss him and the undefinable thing you had together. 

It’s a fucking mess, and his mind is moving at a mile a minute, but then – "I love you, too," Martin murmurs, all tenderness and care, and suddenly nothing else matters, for a second.

Tim swallows a little twinge of guilt in his throat for thinking of Jon when he's here with Martin. He’s spent so much time struggling to keep from going crazy over losing them, leaving them, and this is – well. He thought at the beginning of the night that running into Martin was a worst case scenario, that it would only bring up all the pain and baggage that he tried to forget, but now it might be an opportunity.

There's still a lot of baggage, of course. There's still the Institute, but. This night with Martin has been better than a few years without him, more secure and safe and happy than Tim has felt since he left, and he thinks it would be worth it to try  _ something  _ to bridge the gap he’s put between himself and the people he loves.

"I need to get cleaned up," he mutters under his breath, instead of voicing any of those thoughts.

"Yeah," Martin replies with a little nod of his head. "D'you want a shower, or should I just grab a cloth?"

"Too tired for a shower," Tim says in answer. 

He whines softly when Martin lifts him off his lap, lamenting the loss of the warm, solid presence of his body, and then Martin lays him down so gently and slips away with a soft kiss to Tim's forehead. Tim worries that he may fall asleep before Martin returns, but Martin is efficient, and quickly comes back with a warm, damp cloth. Tim tries to sit up and take it from him, and Martin clicks his tongue and shakes his head.

"Let me," he implores, eyes wide. He waits for Tim to give him a nod of permission before settling on the bed between his legs. He swipes the cloth through the slick mess of come and sweat and lube between Tim's legs, careful not to be too rough around his sensitive cock, chancing a look up at his face every few seconds to be sure he's not too uncomfortable.

He looks blissed out – fucked out – his head tipped back against the pillows, his eyes closed and his lips parted serenely. He hisses when Martin presses against the sore area around his hole, his eyes fluttering half-open as he reflexively tries to close his legs. The motion is thwarted by Martin's hands, but he pulls back a bit to allow Tim his comfort for a moment. 

"Sorry, love," Martin soothes, brushing fingertips gently over the tender flesh. "Alright?"

"Yeah," Tim answers on a breath, nodding minutely and spreading his thighs again to let Martin in. 

"Good," Martin says with a soft smile. "Almost done, now." After a few more passes, he finishes cleaning up, tosses the cloth aside before turning back to Tim.

"C'mere," Tim mumbles, holding out his hands to beckon Martin closer.

Martin complies, lying beside Tim and wrapping an arm around his chest. Tim tucks his head under Martin's chin, nuzzling into his neck, fitting perfectly into the space there and humming contentedly. He’s not sure how long they lie there, dazed and exhausted, breathing each other in, before they finally drift off to sleep. All he knows is that it feels safe.


End file.
